


Delphi, on the south-west slope of Parnassus

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Generation Kill Week, M/M, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Space Marines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: Nate very nearly dies getting shot down on the planet, but he gets a fancy new arm out of it.





	Delphi, on the south-west slope of Parnassus

**Author's Note:**

> For GK Week Day 6, "cas-evac" and hurt/comfort. (In case anyone has ever wondered about the state of my WIP folder, the first paragraph of this has existed in a doc since June of 2011.)

Nate doesn't remember dying, but he does remember coming back to life. 

It hurts more than whatever he'd gotten shot with had, and getting shot hurt like a motherfucker, until nothing hurt anymore. Doc tells him later, when he's lucid, that he'd screamed until he'd been sedated. 

That explains why his throat feels so raw. 

"Yeah, that would do it, Sir," Doc says wryly. He shakes a plastic cup filled with ice. "Gunny said he'd come sit with you, so he can be in charge of these. Don't try moving your arm yet - we got it strapped down, the programming needs another half-hour to finish validating. After that, we can talk about springing you from this joint."

Nate does not look down at the replacement limb. "I have another arm that's not busted, you know," he manages to say. 

Doc gives him a look. "If Gunny's offering to feed you the ice cubes, you should take him up on that offer, Sir," he says. He checks Nate's monitors once more. "He should be here any minute, and I have other patients to check on, so I'll see you in a little while and we can get you disconnected. If you need anything, just yell for Portia."

"Portia's a robot," Nate grumbles at that, mostly because he can. At least there's a porthole in his room and he can look out at the stars. He'd been on-planet when they were ambushed by the Iqarii with their nameless and painful weapons, an ugly planet with nearly black vegetation that climbed over the metallic structures the Iqarii used for mining, making nearly every place Nate looked seem dark and sinister. 

There are times that Nate's convinced they're out here because they're the expendable ones. Most of the time he tries not to think about it, tries to concentrate on his job: to bring everyone back in one piece. This time it was him who didn't make it back in one piece. And he knows the replacement arm will be almost indistinguishable from his ruined arm, once the programming is complete. Right now, though, it's a useless weight that he can't feel, and that makes him want to choke.

There's a knock on the door, then Mike's familiar voice calling, "Nate? You up for a visitor?"

"You better get in here before I die of thirst," Nate replies. He feels heavy and tired after only a few sentences, and hopes Mike won't expect actual conversation from him. 

Mike's grinning cautiously as he opens the door, and Nate feels better just looking at him. "Hey. You look like shit."

"Thanks."

Mike sits down on the chair next to Nate's bed. "Actually, you look a lot better than you did when we dragged you onto the ship," he says, picking up the cup of ice. Nate opens his mouth and Mike puts an ice cube on his tongue. It's blissfully cold, and when it's completely melted, he starts feeling less like his throat has been wiped down with sandpaper. 

"Jacks would like to apologize for any parts he might have damaged while putting out the fire that tried to incinerate you, by the way," Mike says. The corners of his eyes crinkle up slightly when he smiles, and Nate is so very glad no one else was hurt. "He would have apologized in person but I told them all they had to give you at least a goddamned week to recover."

"Thanks," Nate croaks again, dry on purpose this time.

Mike spoons another piece of ice into his mouth. "So if you wondered why you feel like charred toast, it was the fire, not the arm shit. But Doc did a good fucking job, you still look like you."

Nate rolls his eyes. "I'll feel more like me once this arm works."

The door beeps and Portia floats in, a shiny column of chrome and plexiglass. "I am here to check your vitals," the pleasant voice announces. "Please allow access to your left wrist."

Nate lifts the arm that's still his and a bright metal ring closes around it for several seconds. "Vitals are within acceptable limits. Thank you for your cooperation," Portia says, and then it drifts back out of the room, humming slightly. Nate is never quite sure if the humming is programming, or the actual sound of the machine.

"Did we ever figure out what Portia stands for?" Mike says when the robot's gone, giving Nate another ice cube. "Patient something?"

Nate thinks for a minute. It feels good to have something to focus on. He's starting to feel less like he might pass back out any second. "Patient something something, Treatment something Assistant?" he guesses.

"Yeah, something along those lines. More ice?"

"I'm okay for now."

Mike puts the cup down and Nate sees him wipe condensation from his hand off onto his BDU pants. "Want me to tell you what happened?"

Nate nods slightly. "I'm going to close my eyes, but I'm listening."

"I don't even know where the Iqarii came from, and that fucking pisses me off," Mike says, and Nate feels Mike's fingers squeeze his good hand. "One minute it was only us in that grove, and the next… For a split second I thought you were dead, Nate."

"'m not dead," Nate mumbles, and carefully turns his hand over to wind his fingers through Mike's. "Wouldn't do that to you."

"You can't leave me in charge of all these assholes. Anyway, Jacks got the fire out while everyone else fucking blasted the Iqarii, then he and Lilley dragged you on board the transport while Person worked some crazy thing with the shields to keep us all from getting lit up while we egressed, and then he and Colbert flew us the fuck out of there..." 

Mike continues to talk, and Nate sort of listens, but the medical system's just dropped another set of painkillers into his IV and they work fast. He stops feeling so heavy and weighed down in the bed, and Mike is very gently stroking his thumb over the back of Nate's hand. It's nice. It's the best he's felt since before they landed on Iqara. So of course that's when there's another knock on the door, and Doc sticks his head in. "Ready to get unplugged, Sir?"

"Fuck yes," Nate groans, and Mike laughs.

Doc's grinning. "Should only take a minute." He walks around the cart of equipment parked next to Nate's bed and his hands move quickly over the touchscreen. "All right, so once we get this panel on your shoulder closed, it'll take the right combination of pressures to open again. First two fingers at the edge of the clavicle like this -" Nate feels his fingers push, "then your ring finger in this little dip here. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Great." Doc makes quick work of removing the bundles of slim wires - Nate feels sort of queasy for a second watching - but once the dull silver panel closes, it looks like just a gray square on an arm that appears nearly identical to the one he'd lost. "See why we have you guys go through the body scanner so often?" Doc asks. "The build on this prosthetic is only a few days behind the rest of you. Can you feel it now?"

"Yes." Nate opens and closes his right fist, then rolls his wrist in a couple circles. 

"If I didn't know, I would never think it's not your real arm," Mike says. He reaches over and touches the forearm with light fingers. It feels to Nate the same as if Mike had touched his flesh-and-blood arm. 

"I keep thinking it feels weird, but that's just psychosomatic, right?" he asks Doc.

Doc nods. "A few days, you might even forget it's a fake."

"I don't suppose you'll let me steal him?" Mike asks, as Nate continues to test out the arm.

"Actually, there's no continuing reason for you to stay in sickbay." Doc winds up the cords connected to the terminal and tucks them onto the cart. "Your superficial wounds have all healed enough, and as long as the arm feels good, I'm fine letting you go back to your quarters to rest, Sir. Not like you're all that far away if something did happen."

"I would love to sleep in my own bed," Nate sighs. "Thanks, Doc."

"I'll have Portia bring you some gear and the meds you should take - twice a day for seven days." Doc pushes the cart towards the door. "Gunny, make sure he takes them."

Nate slaps lightly at Mike's hand where he's poking the new arm. "I can take my own meds."

Mike just gives him a look. "I'm sure one of them is for the pain, so no, you can't be trusted to take those once you feel even the slightest bit like your regular self." 

"Lies," Nate insists, although he knows Mike is right. 

Portia floats in with a stack of clothes and several bubble-packs of pills, which Mike immediately tucks in his breast pocket. "One of each, twice a day," it says. "Please return for a blood test on Wednesday at nine A.M. - you will be paged with the reminder."

"I'm sure Doc Bryan will track me down if I don't show," Nate replies. 

"Wednesday at nine," the robot repeats, then glides back out of the room. 

Nate looks at Mike. "Was it just me, or did Portia sound a little threatening there?"

"It's just you." Mike shakes out the t-shirt and helps Nate pull it down over his head and get his arms through the sleeves, careful of the tender places and how Nate can't move very fast. "You scared me," he murmurs in Nate's ear as he smooths the fabric over Nate's shoulders. "Don't do that again." 

Nate cups his face. "I'm sorry."

"Bringing everyone back includes you." Mike turns his head to kiss the inside of Nate's wrist. "C'mon, let's get these sweats on so you can get out of here."

Nate's lower half is fine, but he's wobbly from both disuse and pain meds, so he let Mike work the sweats up his legs, then help him into the waiting wheelchair. "I really want to insist I can walk," he says, frowning at the perspiration that beads his forehead just going the few steps to the chair, "but I'd probably only make it ten feet."

Mike doesn't reply, but his agreement is clear. Nate feels a little woozy as Mike speeds him down the suspiciously empty corridor to their shared quarters. "Did you bribe everyone to stay out of our way?" he asks.

Mike punches in the keypad code. "Not me. I wouldn't put it past Doc."

In the bedroom, Nate's slow getting into the bed, but he does it himself, although Mike keeps close. "You should lie down with me," Nate murmurs, pulling on Mike's shirt with his new arm.

"In a little while. Promise." 

He leans back against the pillows. It's nice to be in his own space; the sickbay wasn't the worst place he'd ever slept, but it always smelled like antiseptic. "It feels like it's late."

Mike smiles at that. "It's barely time for chow. I'm going to go tell the guys you got your arm and that you're out of medical. Want anything from the mess?"

Nate takes a second, trying to decide if he's hungry. Mostly he's tired. "I don't think so."

"Page me if you change your mind." Mike seems to hesitate for a moment, then leans down and brushes his mouth over Nate's. "Bed was lonely without you," he whispers. "Don't get shot again."

Nate tries to pull him closer, but he's yawning, and Mike stands his ground. "Page me if you need me, and I mean it," he says again before he leaves.

Nate stretches a little, still feeling battered. The new arm moves perfectly in sync with the rest of him, and when he's not actively trying to notice if it feels different or not, he forgets it's not real for entire minutes at a time. There's a mirror across the room and he can see himself well enough in it, so he pushes aside the collar of the t-shirt, fingers probing the place where the new arm connects with everything else. There's a thin pink line there, a little jagged, and a few other cuts and scrapes going across his chest. The weirdest part is how smooth the skin looks to the right of the scar, compared to the rest. But it feels exactly the same. 

"Lights, dim," he says, and the light level in the room drops considerably. He watches out the porthole for a while, the stars all turned to long white ribbons that streak by in the wormhole. The ship is en route back to Saturn's space station, but they won't have a long layover. Nate's not under the impression that they'll get sent anywhere but back to Iqaraa and the mining dispute, but even a few days on the station will be a welcome break for his men.

He's drowsing when Mike comes back - the door is silent but the bed dips when Mike sits down on it. "'m awake," Nate murmurs.

"Brought your book in from the other room, if you want it." 

Nate doubts he could focus enough to read, and says as much. There are two soft thuds as Mike drops his boots, then the sound of fabric rustling. Mike must be changing out of uniform. 

"You couldn't get me one of those arms with the upgrades?" Nate asks, still with his eyes closed. 

"You know we'd get NJP'ed for that," Mike says dryly. The bed dips again as Mike settles next to him. "And you really want to get laid with a gun for a hand?"

Nate chuckles. "Guess not."

Mike leans in, putting his head on Nate's repaired shoulder. "Ready to hear what everyone else has been doing while you were unconscious?"

"Hit me."

"Colbert set up this downright insane training exercise on the sim deck, and insists no one should be able to score higher than seventy in it, so it's turned into a huge betting pool and all the guys trying to one up each other's scores…" 

Mike continues to talk as Nate lets himself drift towards sleep, glad for the artificial gravity keeping him here next to Mike, warm and fixed in the weightlessness of space.


End file.
